Third Strike

by Kathi Daley

  “So maybe he wanted Walter out of the way?”

  Portia shrugged. “Some say. I don’t know what happened for sure. Coach Cranston must not have thought Trey did what he did on purpose or he would have kicked him off the team.”

  “Do you think Walter held a grudge against Trey?”

  “Don’t rightly know, but he came to Trey’s party, so I’m thinking not.”

  Brooke picked up the photo and looked at it more closely. “I know Walter. He’s a friend of my husband’s. I can’t say for certain whether Walter believed Trey intentionally tried to hurt him, but Walter’s a nice guy who doesn’t hang on to anger from the past. I wasn’t at the party, but based on what I know of him, if Walter held any anger toward Trey for what happened, he would have dealt with it years ago and wouldn’t have let it fester into something ugly.”

  Based on the look on the man’s face, combined with the overall mood of the group he was chatting with, I found I had to agree with Brooke’s assessment that Walter probably wasn’t at the party to exact revenge for a wrong that had occurred years before.

  Jack asked Portia a few more questions, but it seemed she didn’t know much more than anyone else did.

  “I want to thank you both for coming,” Jack offered as he wrapped up the interview.

  “I was glad to help,” Brooke answered. “Before I go, I wanted to ask you both about the tree lot.”

  “The tree lot?” I asked.

  “Every year the high school booster club runs a Christmas tree lot to raise money for the school’s athletic programs. As usual, I’ve been asked to organize the volunteers. I know neither of you attended high school on the island, but I hoped you’d be able to cover a few shifts. We open the day after Thanksgiving and stay open until Christmas Eve or whenever the trees are gone, whichever comes first.”

  “I’d be happy to help out,” Jack offered.

  “Me too,” I added.

  “Great. Once I put together a schedule I’ll call you both with some shift choices. I try to get enough volunteers so no one has more than one shift a week, but that doesn’t always work out.”

  “I can fill in as much as needed,” I said. “As long as you don’t schedule me for the day after Thanksgiving. I’m hosting a dinner and I think I’ll need at least a day to recuperate.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 11

  Monday, November 20

  I expected the local grocery store to be busy, but I didn’t think it would be so packed I’d find myself wishing I’d worn riot gear. “This is nuts,” I said to Gertie as we pushed our way through the throngs at the meat counter.

  “It used to be that you were fine shoppin’ for Thanksgiving right up until Wednesday; then folks got wise to the fact they needed to come in on Tuesday to avoid the last-minute rush, and then Tuesday began to be just as crowded as Wednesday. I really thought we’d be okay today. Guess folks are comin’ out earlier this year.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a busy schedule today. I have a feeling we’re going to be here for hours.”

  “It’s all part of the experience, suga. I find it’s best just to relax and enjoy the ride. Not a lot you can do about hurryin’ things up anyway.”

  Gertie had a point. There weren’t a lot of shopping options on the island, so heading to another retail outlet wasn’t an option. The crowd around us wasn’t going to thin no matter how much I complained, so I may as well relax and enjoy the experience.

  I took a step back to allow a woman with an overflowing basket and a crying baby to pass. “Tell me about the gentleman friend you’ve invited to Thanksgiving,” I encouraged.

  “Name is Quentin Davenport. He recently moved to the island after retiring from his job as chief medical examiner for Los Angeles County. He told me he worked a lot of hours, so he never married or had a family. I met him when he came into the café for lunch a few weeks back. It was slow that day, so we got to talkin’, and we hit it off. We haven’t gone out on a date yet, but he’s been back for a meal on several occasions, so we’ve gotten to know each other a bit. I figured he wouldn’t know anyone on the island yet and might be alone for the holiday. He was right grateful for a place to go when I asked him.”

  Gertie and I moved up in the line a few spaces after a second butcher came to the window. “He sounds really great. Does he know about Mortie?”

  “No. I figured I’d wait to see how things develop before introducin’ them. For one thing, Quentin seems kind of conservative. For another, Mortie gets jealous, and I don’t need any trouble right off the bat. Last man I brought back to my place ran screamin’ from the house after Mortie introduced himself in a less-than-friendly manner. Never did see him again.”

  “I imagine it must be challenging to live with a jealous ghost.”

  “You aren’t wrong about that. There are times when Mortie gets on my last nerve. Even considered movin’ a time or two, but I guess in the long run I’d miss the guy.”

  “He sounds like a real character. I’d like to meet him someday.”

  “Mortie doesn’t always come out when folks are around, but you can stop by sometime. You never know who he’ll take a likin’ to.”

  I nodded toward the counter. “It looks like we’re next.”

  Gertie ordered a fresh turkey she’d have delivered to the resort on Wednesday. Once that was accomplished, we headed to the center of the store to pick up the canned and boxed goods. The produce aisle looked like Grand Central Station at rush hour, so Gertie and I decided to tackle that last.

  “Do you think we should buy a couple of cans of whipped cream for the pies?” I asked.

  “Cans? The only cream goin’ on my pies is freshly whipped cream. We’ll pick it up last. Grab a couple cans of black olives. Maybe three. And maybe some of those pickles as well. I thought we’d get some fresh veggies to add to the relish tray too.”

  “Do you want me to grab a couple of cans of gravy while I’m at it?”

  Gertie rolled her eyes before explaining that any meal she cooked didn’t include gravy one bought in a can. It seemed, I was beginning to realize, that there was a lot more to making a Thanksgiving dinner than I’d ever imagined. I was feeling just a bit overwhelmed as Gertie suggested we make the rolls on Wednesday, along with the pies. When she mentioned her plan to serve two types of potatoes and three different vegetable sides, I wondered if maybe we shouldn’t invite additional guests to eat all this food.

  “You okay with sausage stuffin’?” Gertie asked.

  “Sure. I guess. Are there different kinds of stuffing?”

  “There are as many different kinds as there are cooks makin’ it. I mix it up from time to time, but I thought I might make my sausage stuffin’ this year, unless you had somethin’ else in mind.”

  “Sausage stuffing sounds good. Are you sure we need this much food, though?”

  “’Course we do. Won’t be enough for leftovers if we don’t make a lot to begin with, and everyone knows that leftovers are the best part.”

  Given the fact that the only Thanksgiving meals I’d ever consumed had been eaten at a restaurant or a friend’s house, I was fairly certain I’d never had Thanksgiving leftovers before. I found I was quite looking forward to them.

  After we finally made it through the produce aisle and the mile-long line at the checkstand, Gertie and I took the ingredients that would be cooked at the resort on Thursday there before dropping off the items we would need to make the pies and rolls at the café. What I had expected would be a quick trip to the market had turned into a three-hour marathon and I was exhausted. It would have been nice to head home and take a nap before the Mystery Mastermind meeting, but I still needed to stop in to have a chat with Deputy Savage before the gang gathered that evening. He had texted earlier and asked me to come in when I had a chance.

  ******

  “Do you have news?” I asked the minute I walked into his office.

  “Actually, I do. As per your request, I asked
for a copy of the original police report from Charleston PD and it finally came through this morning. Most of what’s contained in the report parrots what we already know, but there was one item I found interesting.”

  “Okay, shoot,” I encouraged.

  “While reading through the original investigator’s notes, I found a reference to a local doctor. There wasn’t any information relating to the doctor other than a statement that the man investigating the case had followed up with him and found his conclusion to be unsubstantiated.”

  “When you say local doctor, do you mean he was a Gull Island local or a Charleston local?”

  “Gull Island. He retired six months ago and moved away, but I know him well enough to have his new phone number, so I called and asked him about his involvement in the original investigation. He told me that at the time of Trey’s death, he requested a copy of the toxicology report and was granted access. According to this doctor, who would like to have his name left out of things, he found evidence that supported the idea that Trey not only ingested drugs the night before, but on game day he ingested a large amount of caffeine, ephedra, taurine, and other ingredients you might find in an energy mix. It’s his opinion, it was the energy mix that led to his death, not the drugs he took the night before.”

  “So why is this the first we’re hearing about it?”

  “The doctor communicated his opinion to the investigator at the time of Trey’s death, who thanked him politely for the input but said the medical examiner’s information didn’t support the conclusion that Trey died from side effects relating to caffeine or any type of energy mix.”

  I tried to get my head around what Savage was telling me. “Why would the investigator want to cover up evidence?”

  “I don’t know that he was covering up evidence. It could just be that he didn’t agree with the local doctor’s opinion. Just because this particular doctor made the assertion doesn’t necessarily mean he was right.”

  “Is the toxicology report part of the police report you have in your possession?” I asked.

  “No. It wasn’t included in what was sent over to me.”

  I let that sink in. It made sense that Trey’s death would have been caused by drugs he’d recently consumed, but I didn’t know a thing about drugs or drug interactions. I supposed it was just as likely drugs that had been sitting around in his system for a while could have killed him.

  “So the question is, if the local doctor was correct and Trey ingested stimulants on the day of the game, did he take them willingly or was he slipped them without his knowledge?”

  Savage sat back in his chair. “Unless we end up getting a confession from someone, I’m not sure how we can ever know. There are a whole lot of unanswered questions surrounding Trey’s death. Did he willingly engage in drug activity at the party or was he slipped drugs without his knowledge? Either way, was the local doctor correct in his assertion that Trey ingested additional stimulants on game day or was the investigator correct in believing the doctor was mistaken? If Trey ingested additional stimulants on game day, did he take them of his own volition or was he slipped the energy mixture? If he took them of his own volition, did he know he already had drugs in his system from the previous evening? If he was slipped the energy mixture on game day, did the same person slip him the drugs at the party, or were there two different people involved? And if there were two people involved, did they each know what the other had done? Lastly, did they know the combination of drugs was likely to be lethal under the right set of circumstances?”

  “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  Deputy Savage leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk in front of him. “I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to sort this out.”

  “It does sound like we need to get someone to talk. The writers are meeting tonight. Alex spoke to everyone who doesn’t currently live on Gull Island and George has been looking in to some things as well. I’m hoping if we put our heads together, we can come up with some answers, or at least narrow things down. You know you’re welcome to come to the meeting if you’d like.”

  “I appreciate that, but I think it would be best given the uncertain situation with the temporary sheriff that I not participate in meetings designed for civilians to try their hand at solving crimes. I have plans with Victoria later, so if there’s anything I should know, she can relay the information.”

  I grinned. “I understand things between you two are going well.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes, she did. And she seems very happy. I know Vikki can come off like a barracuda at times, but she really is sensitive and has a huge heart. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad you’re working things out, but if you hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with.”

  “Duly noted. And just so you know, I really care about Victoria. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.”

  “Good.” I stood up. “I should get going; I’m making dinner. If you come up with any ideas on what to do next, I have some time to talk tomorrow. I’m pretty busy on both Wednesday and Thursday, though.”

  “Understandable. Do you want me to bring something on Thanksgiving?”

  “Just yourself. I’m looking forward to a relaxing day with the people I love the most.”

  Chapter 12

  It was nice to have the whole family together sharing a meal. The tacos were a hit, it seemed, and the atmosphere in the room was of happy anticipation. Jack was chatting with Alex and George, so I decided to join Vikki, Brit, and Clara, who were huddled together at the end of the long dining table.

  “What are we talking about?” I asked as I sat down next to Vikki.

  “Your mystery of the photo in the wall,” Vikki answered. “Clara and I were filling Brit in.”

  “The whole thing is just so romantic,” Brit said with a wistful tone in her voice. “It seemed so obvious from the letters that Paul was deeply in love with Francine. I bet he spent every minute of every day dreaming about their life together after he was discharged.”

  “She may have been a married woman,” I pointed out.

  “That’s what we were discussing when you came over,” Vikki said. “There was definitely someone in the picture named Tom, and it seemed obvious Paul was worried about the fact that this Tom was being discharged, but if you read the letters from oldest to most recent, you’ll find that Tom isn’t mentioned at all until the last few letters.”

  “I guess you’re right. I read the letter on the top first, which was the most recent one. Paul spoke about Tom quite a bit, so I guess in my mind he was in the picture the entire time. You think he wasn’t?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Vikki answered. “I’ve gone through the letters many times, and if you read them in order you experience a beautiful love story between a man named Paul and a woman named Francine who loved each other very much but were torn apart by the war and Paul’s duty to serve his country.”

  “The whole time I was reading the letters I kept wishing we had Francine’s responses to Paul,” Brit joined in. “It seemed she must have loved him based on Paul’s comments to her, but in truth, we only have half the story. We don’t know for certain if she shared his feelings.”

  “She kept the letters and hid them in the wall,” Vikki said. “I have to believe if she didn’t share his passion, she wouldn’t have done that.”

  “I held the locket earlier,” Clara said. “I could feel the love, the longing, the sorrow, but I also felt fear. I’m not sure Francine was afraid of this Tom who’s mentioned in the later letters, but she was afraid of something.”

  “As I said before, the first letter I read was the most recent one sent,” I said. “In that letter, Paul mentions that Tom is about to be discharged and will be coming home. Paul is fearful of how Tom will take the news of their relationship and worries that Francine will be on her own with Tom until he’s discharged in six months. I read that to indicate that Tom was Francine’s husband, or perhaps her fiancé. It’s hard
to know for certain, but I get the feeling she was committed to him in some way, that her dalliance with Paul took place outside the structure of that relationship. Did anyone have a different impression?”

  “The first mention of Tom is three letters before the end,” Vikki told me. “Until that point, Paul and Francine were the only two people in the picture. Then, in the third to the last letter, Paul writes that he’s worried because he found out Tom had been discharged and was being sent home. He doesn’t go into a lot of detail. Then, in the next letter—the second to the last that was sent—he tells Francine that the situation with Tom has been on his mind a lot and reminds her that it’s imperative that Tom not find out about them. Then, in the last letter, Tom is almost ready to return home, and you can sense Paul’s growing concern. Now, on one hand, it seems like Tom night be Francine’s husband. But Brit thinks maybe Tom is someone who has power over Francine and would have an opinion as to who she fell in love with but wasn’t a love interest. Someone like a father or a brother.”

  I paused to consider that. “Why did you think that?” I asked Brit.

  “Because while Paul expresses fear that Tom is coming home and Francine will have to deal with him on her own, he doesn’t express jealousy. I just think that if he was in love with Francine and her husband or fiancé was about to reenter her life, he might be feeling at least a twinge of jealousy that Tom would be spending time with her, possibly making love with her, and he wouldn’t.”

  “I guess that’s a good point,” I admitted. “I’m committed to focusing on Alex’s case, but when it’s over, I really do want to see if I can track down Francine to get the rest of the story.”

  “Fifty years is a long time. It’ll be hard to find someone who might remember some random woman from that long ago,” Brit warned me.